A. Marie Silver

A. Marie Silver

Door Knockers

This blog is a continuation of Gwennie’s diary entry, Phoning Peta.

“I need a towel! I need a towel!” The four-year-old screamed at me while I rinsed her hair.

“You’re holding it in your hand.” I hated pointing out the obvious, but she was holding a towel in her hand. She used it to dry her eyes and a for a few seconds, everything was quiet. Gwennie came into the bathroom and rubbed against my legs.

And then, off in another room, I heard the phone ring. Gwennie, always startled by phones, ran out of the bathroom.

I had my hands full with the two kids in the tub and my husband was downstairs with the baby, giving her a bottle. The phone went unanswered. Five minutes later, I battled the two kids trying to get them out of the tub. Bathtub is super interesting at my house. Most of the time the kids can’t wait to get into the tub. They’re so excited, they forget to take their socks off. Tonight was one of those rare nights where I had to fight my kids to get into the tub and then fight them to get them out of the tub.

I got the kids out of the tub and sent them into my son’s room, where there pajama’s were waiting for them.

“Get your pajamas on,” the four year old yelled at my son.“You stop yelling at me!” The six year old yelled back.

“Get. Your. Jammies on!” The four year old is quite bossy toward everyone. Not just her older brother.

“NOOOOOOOO!” The six year old yelled back.

The four year old came into the bathroom. I was using the bath towel to dry down the floor after the great splash fest of 2018. “My brother screamed at me!” She cried.

Major, major tears. And also drama. Because of course she’s the victim in all of this. Totally innocent of any instigating or wrong doing.
I looked at her.

“Quit your crying.” Because I’m super nurturing like that.

While I was dealing with the crying, totally traumatized child in the bathroom, I heard multiple, heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. Too many footsteps to belong to my husband.

Two police officers came into the hallway, followed by my husband who was carrying the baby in his arms.

“Honey, we have company.” My husband wore a confused smile on his face.

I looked up at the two police officers who were peeking into the bedrooms.

“Dispatch notified us of a hang-up 911 call,” Officer #1 said.

“I tried to tell them it was a mistake but then someone,” my husband looked down at the four-year-old. “Started screaming and they insisted on coming inside to check things out.”

“Knock yourselves out,” I said. What else was I going to say?
Gwennie came into the hallway which was weird because she normally hides when strangers come into the house. She rubbed around the police officers’ legs and meowed frantically at them. I wondered, for a second, if she got into the catnip but then I remembered we don’t have any catnip. We haven’t had any for years.

“Any possibility one of these two,” Officer #2 pointed to the four-year-old and her brother, “called 9-1-1 by accident?” He glanced down at Gwennie who was pawing at his leg.

“Well,” I thought about his question for a second. The six year old has been learning about 911 and emergency responders in school. And he does have a fascination with dialing random numbers into the phone. But then another thought occurred to me. “That would depend on when you received the call. Because both of the kids were in the tub for about twenty minutes and they’ve only been out for about ten minutes.”

Officer #1 pulled out a small, spiral-bound steno notebook. He flipped through the pages, pursing his lips. “Nah. The call came in while they were probably in the tub.”

I looked over at my husband who was still holding the baby. She was waving and smiling at both of the police officers. “Any chance the baby could’ve done it?” Sometimes we give her the phone to play with.

“Nope.” He shook his head. “She was on my lap, drinking her bottle when they knocked on the door.”

“We won’t take up any more of your time,” Officer #2 said. “Looks like everyone here is fine. We’re sorry to bother you.”

“Not a problem,” I said. “Better safe than sorry.”

“Byeeee!” The baby waved at both of the police officers.

Gwennie stood off in one corner of the hallway, hissing at both of the police officers as they walked downstairs with my husband. I swear to God that cat makes me dizzy. One minute she’s purring at them and the next minute she’s hissing.

The kids were both in their pajamas at this point. I sent them downstairs and then walked into my bedroom to get something. That’s when I noticed the phone. It was on the floor, face up.

“Weird.” I picked up the phone and placed it back onto its charger.

Leave a Reply

A. Marie Smith

Your short bio telling the story of why you are a writer and the things that you think are important.